Pgh Lesbian Correspondents

 A little bit of swashbuckling bravado boots might be just what we need to keep up the fight

Laird Borelli, Vogue

In my middle school days, fashion trends were aplenty. Most of us kids of steelworkers did not have plenty to spend on them. We settled for knockoffs in a time long before TJ Marshalls and Gabe’s provided options.

I never had Jordache jeans. Nor parachute pants, athleisure track suits, and no bomber jacket. I did have leg warmers, but they were cheap so the elastic wore out and they basically warmed my lower calf if I was lucky.

One middle school trend that I longed to participate in were suede slouchy ankle boots. Sometimes called pirate boots, sometimes dorfs, and sometimes peter pan boots. I secretly thought they looked like elven boots and given my recent introduction to Dungeons & Dragons, I was infatuated.

From Elle.com

For the uninitiated, slouchy boots date all the way back to the 17th century—when the Cavaliers, the royalist supporters of King Charles I, sported tall soft leather boots that folded over the ankle. These exact boots were later worn by naval officers and helmsmen well into the 20th century to protect against spindrift and cold weather. Notably, in 1981, the late Dame Vivienne Westwood debuted her now-famous pirate boots in her famed “Pirate” collection, which defied punk’s underground anti-fashion movement and leaned toward new romanticism. Ushering punk into a glam rock era, the new line echoed the motifs of fetishwear: sensual androgynous looks and a flamboyant flair that still dominate runways, mainstream fashion, and pervade social media today.

Elle

This was a time when my parents could only buy me a single pair of jeans and one of corduroys, expecting me to still wear my sixth grade clothes because they still fit (I was scrawny.) It was generic everything from food to sneakers. I got lucky when I found cute purple knockoff Chuck Taylors at Hill’s Department Store, only to return home with two left shoes. I called the store and they did not have either right shoe so they offered me a refund. My mother took them up on that, but there were no similar items to satisfy me. I remember sitting in my room hoping it was a mistake and trying to put my feet into both shoes. I was so sad.

Still, I longed for the slouchy boots. My birthday is October 22, the perfect time to add an autumnal elven flair to my otherwise spectacularly sad wardrobe.

On my birthday, my Mom cooked the stew I liked and we had a little cake after dinner. Then my father took me to the Mall for the big surprise – a pair of gray plastic looking saggy boots he had found at Payless. They were more Bilbo Baggins than Legolas. They were just horrible and I was dying inside anticipating the ridicule of my classmates. But my Dad wanted to do something right so I pretended to love them and I wore them. And I was ridiculed. And they fell apart before Christmas as my father predicted. Then in the mixed-up family dynamics of the 80’s, I was comforting him about my birthday present.

In my 50’s, I don’t wear a lot of boots. Well, I wear my hiking boots to the cat colony,but otherwise I wear slippers and sandals, now moving toward sneaker season. Over the weekend, I went to a play at City Theatre and realized I had non idea where my non daily shoes had migrated after I returned home in March. Everything used to be on a shoe rack we shared. Not true any longer. So I grabbed my sneakers, but made a mental note that I might need some shoes for nicer occasions,

For kicks, I looked up the slouchy boot trend of the 80’s, learning it had made its way back to us in the 00s – who knew? And apparently they are back again in 2024.

Then I found a few pairs that I liked – a bit more rugged than the fairy boots of yesteryear, but still cute and slouchy. I have a pair in black that I’ve worn since 2010 for fancy occasions with a pair of leggings and a cute dress.

So … it is close to my October birthday. I just bought an etrike for too much money. I have no income to speak of. I buy generic food when possible. My wealth is never going to be replenished. I have to think about my cat’s upcoming dental surgery. I have potentially three legal cases to wrangle. I just bought $100 in cat food for the feral cats. A million reasons why I can’t afford $50 on boots to appease my inner 7th grader. Or at least 50 reasons.

People will tell me to just do it, but they are wrong. I am not a 7th grader. I have grown-up, somewhat scary adult responsibilities for myself and other living creatures (cats.) I have therapy homework. I am not in a position to go all Carrie Bradshaw over boots I’ll wear maybe 10 times a year.

I’m not striving for a maudlin tone. My parents had no money for anything because my Dad was an alcoholic gambler and my mother enabled him. No adults in our family gave a fuck about our birthdays except the predatory grandmonster who used mine and my brother’s both to ply me with gifts. My brother never got a gift for my birthday. I used to point that out but only recently realized why grandmonster made those choices.

All of these things – addiction, alcoholism, mental illness, sexual violence – they all contributed to the misery that was my middle school years in ways that a pair of the fanciest boots and jeans would never have offset.

Another family lesson was to pretend during feast times that the famines were totally over. So no need to save that big lotto hit to ensure food for six months, let’s go to the beach!

I can’t change my middle-school birthdays or any of those days. I don’t want to comfort my inner child with a pair of boots, however cute. I do want to comfort my adult self that I’m not going to end up homeless again or struggle for food or forever be dependent on rides from strangers. $50 is a bag of cat food for the colony that will last almost a month. It is a utility bill. It is a portion of a legal billing hour by one of my attorneys.

I’m not succumbing to shopping to fill the wound in my soul. I have a new trike and a new laptop. I am old enough to wear sneakers wherever the fuck I want to without questions. I was dragged out of my home by the police wearing foam flipflops and I walked back in wearing hiking boots. If I had a 7th grader, I’d make sure she was properly fed, clothed, and emotionally supported. Not by trips to the beach or weepy garment rending over my failures to earn her pity. By making responsible decisions.

If you are even remotely considering Googling those boots to surprise me, just stop. I want the boots, but I’d much prefer you contribute that gift money to my legal expense fund. Seriously.

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